Kill You Again
by Dreaming Thinker
Summary: Constance Langdon is old, frail, and dying. But she needs to make it to the Murder House before she passes.


Kill You Again

An American Horror Story Fanfiction

Constance Langdon was lying comfortably in bed, the cool air from the ceiling fan lightly stirring her hair. It felt good. She was an old woman, eighty years old, although she had never told anyone. Like she had been told by her mother, and like she had told her daughter, 'a lady never reveals her age.' Constance was truly alone, deserted by every one living. Her former glamour was now lost to age and frailty. Michael, her grandson, was off doing God knows what. Billie Dean Howard's words echoed in Constance's head;

_A child born of human and spirit will usher in the end of times. It truly is the essence of evil._

Ha, it was bullshit. Her grandson, the Anti-Christ? Perhaps he did have a murderous streak, but it was just a trait he had inherited from his father. Tate. Constance truly did miss Tate and Beauregard. But they were in the Murder House. And she missed Adelaide even more, but she was gone forever.

_The murder house…_

The thought of that wretched and God-forsaken household resonated in Constance's mind. She did want to see her sons again, and return to the neighborhood in which she had left twenty years before.

Constance got up out of her bed, and looked in a mirror. She spent quite a while doing her hair, in the usual style, and she stood, pondering about what she would wear, and how much makeup should would coat on. Despite being eighty, Constance was still very much concerned with her appearance.

She made her way down the stairs, into her old-fashioned kitchen. Though times were changing, Constance had never truly warmed up to the modern architecture some people were using. She thought it was tacky and cold. She fixed herself a breakfast of scrambled eggs with a couple of her tasty blueberry muffins.

Constance quickly gobbled up through the eggs, while keeping a ladylike posture, of course, and glanced over to the muffins. She picked one up, and ate in silence. Her thoughts again shifted to the murder house. To see her family, and to spend eternity with them… Constance was plagued with terrible visions from her last days in Los Angeles. Telling a sad-faced Larry that she did not return his love. Vivien giving birth in the living room, evidently in excruciating pain. Ben's body hanging from the chandelier. Adelaide's body in the morgue. There were too many memories there for Constance not to go back, and maybe spend eternity there.

So it was decided. Constance would travel back to the Murder House to visit some old friends, and maybe she would join the ghostly citizens of the property by offing herself. But she was weak, and unable to care for herself properly. But it would be the last time she ever has to put in physical effort.

Constance washed up her dishes, and walked back upstairs. She picked up a small mirror, gazing at her reflection, something she liked to do. Instantly, anger and regret surged through her. What a pitiful, regrettable life she had lived! Pathetic! Suffering, death… often by her own hand! Her grip around the handle tightened, and in her growing fury, she threw it against the wall, and it shattered, shards of glass and sorrow flying in all directions. She broke into tears. Many thought of her as a heartless, cruel bitch. But she wasn't, she was simply hardened by all of the pain in her life. She recalled one encounter that she had had with Michael not so long after he had graduated from high school.

"_I'm leaving this town, Grandma."_ _Michael sneered, a genuine look of disgust visible on his face._

_Constance looked appalled by this notion, glancing up from the dishes she was washing in the sink. "No, I can't let you leave, you're too dangerous!"_

"_Dangerous?" This thought made Michael look amused. "Come on, bitch. I'm eighteen years old, I can take care of myself."_

_A tear rolled down Constance's cheek as she took a puff of her cigarette. "You're a murderer. You killed your first person when you were three." She reached for a kitchen knife, but Michael sprinted to it simultaneously. He knocked her down, and grabbed the knife._

"_You old hag. I would kill you right now, but I'm not that kind." Michael muttered to her. He walked out of the kitchen, knife in hand, leaving Constance to lie on the floor trembling."_

Just relieving the memory made Constance feel even more bitter and depressed. She hadn't since Michael since then. He was probably off committing murders, and fulfilling Billie Dean's prophecy. Perhaps Michael was the Anti-Christ. Maybe this terrible fate could have been averted. Maybe Constance could have taken him to church more frequently, and maybe she should've held more discipline over him. Constance did use discipline with her own children, but a small part of her feared Michael, and another small part of her knew that no matter how hard she strived to make him a well-rounded individual, Michael was pure evil.

Constance didn't bother collecting the broken pieces of the mirror. This house would fall into disuse when she left for the murder house. She pulled a light jacket out of her closet, and placed it on her. She got chilled quite easily. You could almost feel how brittle her bones were. She was even slightly shaking, just putting on the jacket.

Tomorrow her nurse would come, and find her missing, and maybe they'd investigate it, but they wouldn't find anything. Maybe they will contact Michael. Maybe he'll care, for once? That was virtually impossible. Michael cared for no one, aside from himself and perhaps Satan.

Constance put on her bug-eyed sunglasses, and put on another layer of makeup. She did her best to conceal her age, as any lady should. Then, with that, she bid farewell to the house in which she hid from her past, and raised a demon.

Constance walked out of the front door, and made her way to the train station. She bought a ticket for one to Los Angeles, which wasn't too far away. She lived in a dreary suburb of San Diego. Thus, she boarded her train alone. Nowadays, that's all she did have. Herself.

**Note: Thank you for reading! I'm think of making this a two-shot, but if I get positive feedback and a good idea, perhaps I'll continue it beyond that. So please review, and leave all positive and negative comments. Constructive criticism is helpful! **

**Warmest regards,**

**Dreaming Thinker xx **


End file.
